


Unamused

by moosesmittens, rrc



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Ciphord, Gen, Implied Fiddauthor, Mind Games, Passive-aggression, Passive-agressive Fiddleford, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, ominous doodling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesmittens/pseuds/moosesmittens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrc/pseuds/rrc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill has an affection for pranks, but not so much when he's on the receiving end of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unamused

**Author's Note:**

> _Warnings:_ Mind games, cruel "jokes", Bill is an abusive shit, unwanted touching, passive-aggression, swearing, violence.

Bill opens his eyes, blinking. First one, then the other. A grin spreads slowly across his face. Sixer fell asleep again.  
  
He stumbles out of his chair, stretching and snagging the glasses off of Stanford's desk. The numbnuts drifted off in the middle of his work again it would seem. Bill doodles a little picture of himself in the margin. Stanford is on the right track, but is still 10 steps behind, as usual. Time to fix that.  


Fiddleford yawns widely, stretching his arms over his head. Boy, he’s really working himself to the limit here… But Stanford did say they needed to stay on track… A few more hours should do it. And coffee… Lots of coffee…  
  
He sighs, getting up to brew a fresh pot and pouring out two cups. Stanford would no doubt be exhausted… Coffee would be just the thing to help him out.  
  
He makes it just the way Ford likes it and takes it over to his study. He knocks on the door.  
  
“Uh, Stanford? Made ya some coffee, bud. Thought it might help ya out.” He lets himself in, closing the door behind him.  


Bill doesn't even glance up at him. he grunts, motioning for Fiddleford to hand him the coffee.  


Fiddleford blinks, a little hurt. “Hey uh… It’s kinda good manners to say thank you, Stanford.” He mutters, placing the mug on the desk.  


Bill tries to keep his giggling to himself. "Thanks..." what does Stanford call this insufferable sap again? "...Thanks, Fidds!" he reaches out and grabs the coffee in his hands, trying to remember how humans ingest such things.  


“That’s better.” Fiddleford leans close to him, heat spreading across his face. “You.. uh.. gettin’ anywhere with those equations? I got a few ideas about how we can stabilise the reaction of the hyperdrive but I oughta run em past a few tests first.”  


Bill swirls the coffee around in his hand, still trying to figure out what to do with it. Stanford's human eyes are a little small for the mug. "Oh yeah, these equations and I are going plenty of places!" Hrm, that doesn't sound much like the six-fingered nerd, does it? "I mean...you know..." He coughs. "always nice to hear your... _ideas_ ...."  


Fiddleford narrows his eyes, a little suspicious. Maybe Ford is just sleep deprived. “Sure, but that can wait ‘till morning. Just thought we could put out a few more hours and head to bed.”  


BIll shrugs. "Sounds like a plan, Fiddsy!" He sets the coffee down, sticks one of his fingers in it, and holds it up against one of his eyes, trying to get it to open or something. Hrm, he's not exactly tasting much with that...  
  
His eye gets really, really wet after a while, and it starts to hurt. He doesn't mind, enjoys it even, but he has a feeling that means that he's doing something wrong.  


Fiddleford watches in confusion, brow furrowed. "Hey, uh... You alright? Are you tryin’ to burn your eye?"

Bill pulls his finger out of his eye and shakes it off. Oh well, that was Ford's bad eye anyway.  


He ignores Fiddleford’s comment and glances at him, faking a shy smile. "You know, it's kind of a shame we don't spend much time together outside of work...maybe we should take a break sometime...get out...go to the movies, just the two of us..."

"I... I.." Fiddleford stammers. "That... Would be... I mean... A break would sure do us good!" He says, his knee beginning to shake.

Bill reaches up and pats Fiddleford's shoulder. "Thank you for always being there for me, helping me out...I wouldn't trust anyone else but you with this project, y'know!"  
  
"It's uh... My...My pleasure, Stanford!" Fiddleford all but gushes, smiling. Heat crawls up his neck. His heart _thud thud thuds_ just a little bit faster.  


Bill gives his shoulder a squeeze. "You've always been a real pal! It just means so much to me, you dropping everything to come out here and lend me a hand!"  
  
He glances up at him, creating the fondest, kindest expression he possibly can.  
  
Suddenly he stands up, throws his arms around Fiddleford, and gives him a hug. "You've been so good to me, Fiddleford! I don't deserve a friend like you!"  


Fiddleford blinks, stunned by the sudden affection. He shakily wraps his arms around Stanford.  
  
"I... You're more than a friend to me, Stanford..." He murmurs. He’s so caught off guard he doesn’t know what to say. "I... Thank you." He buries his face into Ford's chest. "It's ... Honestly my pleasure to work with you."  


Bill giggles, which he turns into a fake sob. "I...I just..." He manages to compose himself. "You've done so much for me...I can never repay you..."

Fiddleford’s fingers slide up Ford’s sides, sighing softly and leaning against his shoulder. His friend. His best friend.

“I… It’s been a joy, Stanford. Honest.” He murmurs. He looks over Ford’s shoulder at the equations he’s writing. Bless him, they’re all so neat and tidy and… Wait.

There’s scribbles scrawled across the graph paper. Ford loves doodling, Fiddleford loves that about him… But there’s something that bothers him about the heavy marked triangles.

Bill combs his fingers through the back of Fiddleford's hair. "You're so sweet...so kind....so _trusting_..." He giggles.

he leans in and whispers in Fiddleford's ear. "I just can't even _believe_ how _pathetic you are_..." He grabs the back of Fiddleford's head, taking a bunch of his hair in his hand. He pulls Fiddleford close and runs his tongue from the base of the man's jaw to his temple.

Fiddleford stiffens, his heart plummets to the floor and his blood running cold. “N-No…” His voice comes out as a whimper, his whole body trembles.

Everything he wanted… Everything he needed … Perverted in a single moment.

There is only one entity capable of that. What a fool he was for believing the creature’s charade!

“Bill.” Fiddleford hisses through clenched teeth. He can feel his pulse thudding faster and faster, racing and pushing adrenaline through him.

“You let me go _r-right now_!”

Bill bursts into a fit of laughter. "Aw, don't be such a stick in the mud, Fiddler, it was just a _joke_!" he gives Fiddleford a pat on the cheek.

he lets him go, all but pushes him aside, still cackling. "Oh _man_ , I can't believe you actually fell for that haha! Ol' Fordsy must really be keeping you starved for appreciation!"

Bill leans against the desk, grinning. "Was it too much? did I lay it on too thick? I felt like I did!" he shakes his head, snickering. "I thought for sure you'd think something was up when I started sobbin', but man, you just _kept buyin' it_!"

Fiddleford bristles, wiping his cheek ferociously. He's more furious than frightened... How _dare he_?

"It ain't funny! You... You oughta be ashamed of yourself! Playin' with a fella's feelings like that!" He snaps, pointing accusingly at him.

Bill guffaws. He shimmies his shoulders and touches his hand to his cheek, giving a bit of a pout. "Aw gee, I don't mean to be such a heartbreaker! I can't help it if all the boys want me!"

"Stanford wouldn't appreciate that!" Fiddleford snaps.

Bill chortles. "Ah, well pity Stahnferd _ain't here_ , hrm?"

Fiddleford's eyes narrow. "Ya think you're so funny. Ya think you're such a trickster. Well you're not! You're just plain cruel!"

He shoves past him and picks up the mug of coffee.

"I made this for Stanford. Not you." He growls, taking it away from the desk.

Bill laughs, throwing his hand over his heart (or at least where he approximates the human heart to be). "Aw, you're hitting me where it _hurts_ , Fiddlesticks!"

He swings around and sits back into the chair. "Anyway, good luck on your equations and such! Maybe if you get enough of them done, Stanford will actually _appreciate your help_ or _take your advice_ or something!" He bursts into a fresh fit of cackling at that.

Fiddleford storms out of the room, slamming the door shut. The mug shatters as he flings it into the kitchen sink. Brown liquid oozes down the drain.

He grits his teeth, his hands trembling.

"Damn it damn it _damn it_!" He hisses, pressing his clenched fist against his brow.

What a fool he was! To believe that was Stanford... That he would actually...

Fiddleford hastily wipes his watering eyes. He retrieves his own coffee, taking a heavy swig before going back down to his room. The room Stanford gave him.

"Oh Stanford... Why aren't you here?" He murmurs. His pile of equations seem useless now. And there's no way he's going to go to sleep with that _thing_ around. He spies his banjo nearby and picks it up, gently strumming it. Might be just the thing to settle his nerves.

Bill is still chortling to himself long after Fiddleford has left the room. Oh, the look on that poor, gullible hillbilly's _face_! It's all the sustenance he needs to keep working.

It's not like the equations are difficult, even remotely a challenge actually, so it's not long before he begins getting bored. He doodles more of himself in the margins of the calculations and formulas, drawing little sketches of the portal and optical illusions. He scribbles a little picture of Pyronica laughing as Kryptos gets disintegrated before he hears a weird, annoying twanging sound coming from outside of the room.

Bill grumbles, tossing the pencil in his hand at the door. "Hey, hillbilly! quit doing whatever dumb thing you're doing and get back to _work_ ! Some of us are actually doing our _jobs_ here!"

Fiddleford is slowly strumming a tune when he hears the angry voice of Not-Stanford.

So the Muse doesn't like it, eh? Interesting.

A grim smile twitches at his lips. He pockets some chewing tobacco and a Cubics Cube before picking up his banjo and waltzing into Stanford's room.

"What'd you say?" He asks innocently before strumming the banjo again.

"Couldn't hear ya." He plucks a few chords, moving into the room.

Bill bristles, like a cat that's been startled. He glances at Fiddleford, glowering. "Maybe if you stopped making that racket you woulda caught what I said the first time! Some of us are trying to get stuff done around here, you know!"

"A racket?" Fiddleford asks, a smirk growing larger on his face as he begins to pluck a bluegrass tune.

"I don't hear no racket." He says, settling in a nearby chair as the song increases in tempo.

Bill glares at Fiddleford, a twitch in his upper lip. "I thought Stanford said you couldn't make godawful noises with that quote-unquote 'musical instrument' after 8. I know he finds your irritating habits 'charming' for some reason, but how would he feel if he knew they were slowing progress on the portal?"

Fiddleford stops strumming for a moment to put a piece of tobacco in his mouth and begins to chew. Then he strikes up another of his favourite tunes.

"Well, Stanford ain't here." He says with a grin.

Bill growls. "Well maybe if you want him back sooner rather than later you'll keep your 'yokel charm' to yourself and quit distracting me!"

he props up his head with his hand, scribbling numbers down as fast as he can.

Fiddleford chuckles. "Not a banjo guy, huh?" He increases the tempo of his playing, fingers dancing along the strings.

Bill digs his nails into the desk, leaving long scratch marks in the wood. "I guess that's _one way_ to put it..." he growls through clenched teeth. "Now can you kindly, _please_..."

Fiddleford chews the wad of tobacco between his molars, spying a nearby pot plant that had clearly been neglected.

He hucks up some saliva and spits the tobacco into the pot. It hits the side with a clink. And it feels _great_.

Bill hisses at the sound of Fiddleford spitting into the pot. A little bit of the tobacco and saliva splatters onto the side of his face.

he makes a disgusted noise, wiping it off with his sleeve. If human gazes had the capacity to kill, he knows for a fact his current glare would do so most effectively. " _Do you mind_?!"

Fiddleford chuckles. "Aw don't be such a stick in the mud! You Muses have fun sometimes, right?"

He feels lightheaded, giddy at the sudden power he has over the creature that tormented him.

He puts the banjo down for a moment, slipping another lump of tobacco into his mouth and taking out his Cubics Cube.

 _Click click clack click_ it goes as he solves it with ease.

Bill glares (unfortunately metaphorical) daggers at Fiddleford as he moves on to yet another annoying habit. "Are you just gonna do this all night then?!"

Fiddleford smirks. “You got a problem with it?”

_Click click click click_

Bill hisses. Then a smile spreads across his face. "Oh no, no problem with it. None whatsoever." he gives Fiddleford a toothy grin. "And if you, say, fell down the stairs once or twice, I would have _nothing_ to do with it in the _slightest_!"

"Well, that sure is an original threat!" Fiddleford says before spitting out another wad of tobacco. It hits Stanford's shoe with a dull thunk.

Bill flinches at the tobacco hits his form. He growls. "Well it doesn't have to be original to break all your little bones, _does it_?"

"Hm true, but you'd do that to me anyway, regardless of..." To make his point, Fidds picks up his banjo again and strums up another fast paced bluegrass tune.

Bill bares his teeth. "Maybe I'll go ahead and do it then, if it'll get you to be fucking _quiet_!"

Fiddleford steps backwards, still playing his banjo. The tempo increases. "You'd have to catch me first." He curls his lip, more teeth than grin.

Bill stands, his hands crooked and splayed like claws. "I hope you're faster than you look, because if I catch you i'm gonna squeeze your head until your _eyeballs pop out of their sockets_!" And with that, he lunges at Fiddelford, snarling.

Fiddleford's heart leaps into his throat as he jumps to the side, narrowly avoiding those all too familiar hands.

"H-Hey now! I didn’t mean nothin’ by it!” He says with a light chuckle.

Bill chuckles too, but a hungry sadism colors the tone of it. “Then I hope you don’t take much offense when I _snap your goddamned neck_ , because I won’t mean anything by that either!”  
  
Bill’s fingers twitch. His grin is wide enough that saliva is rolling off his exposed teeth and gums and down his chin.

“Now, now ... No need to be hasty..." Fiddleford murmurs, eyes wide and raising his hands as though placating a wild beast.

The creature's anger has twisted his friend's features beyond recognition. The eerie yellow glow from his eyes, lips pulled so far back he saw gum, nose scrunched and brows knitted inward.

He has to run. Fast. He spins on his heel and darts for the door, slamming it behind him to give him extra time. He bolts, sweaty palms clinging onto the neck of his banjo.

"Sweet Sally... Heck darn darn FUCK SHIT BALLS!"

Bill shrieks, digging his nails into the door as he careens into it. He grabs the doorknob and nearly tears it out of place as he throws the door open.

he leaps out of the threshold like some kind of wild animal, pushing off the wall as he slams into it. He imagines wringing the yokel's neck and his face twists into a vicious smile. "Ready or not _here I come, Fiddler_!"

Fiddleford screams, barreling down the hallway, pulling down chairs and tables and anything else to slow the creature down.

"Oh no oh no oh god oh god!"

Running around the house is pointless. His only option is the woods. He knows them better than Bill does.

He bolts for the front door, flinging it shut and hastily stacking a shovel and some wood in front of it. Autumn leaves crunch under his feet as he runs down a familiar path. The stars in the sky are beginning to fade.

It should be almost dawn. Stanford's exhausted body won't survive a prolonged chase. He just has to outlast Bill as best as he can.

Bill scrambles over the furniture and other debris, stumbling but never halting for a moment. He relishes Fiddleford's panicked cries, laughing the whole while.

Fiddleford turns a corner, and Bill hears the sound of a door shut.

Bill slams full-force into the door a few moments after, roaring with fury. "I HOPE YOU'RE GOOD AT HIDING TOO, GLASSES! BECAUSE WHEN I FIND YOU, YOU'RE GONNA _WISH_ YOU WERE _DEAD_!...AS CLICHE AS THAT SOUNDS!"

Bill jostles the door before realizing it's going to take too long. He rams his arm into a nearby window, shattering it. He ignores his battered hand, pausing only to lap up a bit of the blood off of it before jumping through the window frame.

he looks around, then spies some movement in the forest. His upper lip curls into a smirk. "Speaking of clichés..."

He lets out a delighted giggle and takes off in Fiddleford's direction. Stanford is tired (which apparently matters a great deal when you're human), but Fiddleford is weak and has little endurance. And Bill doesn't know much about the limits of the human body, but he always looks forward to testing them.

“SHIT DARN HECK!” Fiddleford curses and spits as he climbs through the undergrowth, panting for breath. The chill of the night air crawls against his skin. He can’t keep quiet. He can hear Bill’s cackling behind him and it’s sending him into a panicked frenzy.

Gotta… Gotta stay calm…

He can’t. He can already feel the panic setting in, his heart thunders in his ears. There’s only one safe haven for him now.

Bill follows the sound of sporadic, terrified breathing and the crunching of twigs and leaves, chortling as he purses Fiddleford. This has already grown into something much more amusing and sporting than before, and even if he doesn't catch Fiddleford, it would have been plenty enjoyable in the meantime. Still, catching him would make it all the more enjoyable!

"I wonder what i'll do to you when I get my hands on you?" He sings into the frosty morning air. "Maybe i'll _strangle you_ with my _bare hands_? Just a little, of course! Nothing fatal!"

He rips a branch in his way straight off the tree, tossing it aside. "Or maybe i'll just _break all of your little fingers_ , one by one, joint by joint? It'd be a bit challenging to play the banjo like that, haha! We'll tell Stanford it happened in some kind of elevator freak accident or something!"

Fiddleford gasps for breath. He shouldn’t have pushed the demon so far! What the hell was he thinking playing with fire like that? He still has his banjo firmly clasped in his hands. It could make a good weapon.

All he knows is that he’s zapping himself with that memory gun as soon as he can … provided he gets out of this alive.

He staggers through the silent pine trees, needles crunching under his feet with every step. The bunker wasn’t far… If he could just get to it…

Bill is all but skipping through the forest now. he can hear the crashing of undergrowth growing fewer and farther between.

"Sounds like someone's getting a little tuckered out, eh, Fiddler?" He bounces over a bush, whistling. "Meanwhile, I'm still fresh as a daisy!"

He's far from, and in fact is beginning to feel his chest ache and his limbs become heavy and uncoordinated. He brushes those sensations aside, using fantasies of grinding Fiddleford's fingers under his heel or smashing his banjo into itty bitty pieces in front of him to keep himself going.

He wonders where Fiddleford is headed; he seems to have some kind of specific location in mind. Wasn't there some kind of project they were working on out here...?

Oh. _oh_ ! Bill chuckles. "Hoping to hide in the bunker, are we now?" he _tsks_ , shaking his head. "You really think that little subterranean sardine tin'll keep you safe from _me_?"

 _How did he know about...?_ Fiddleford can't help but feel a stab of betrayal at that. Stanford must have told him... Their bunker was for him and Ford. Not for _Bill_.

He snarls, the anger spurs him on. The tree is just up ahead. Using the last reserves of his adrenaline he flings the banjo at the branch-switch. The staircase opens up for him.

There's the door. He scrambles to fetch his banjo first.

Bill bursts out of the bushes, his gaze zeroing in on Fiddleford. "SHIA SUPRISE!"

He sees Fiddleford stopping to pick up his instrument and pounces, a flurry of gnashing teeth and inhuman growling and screeching.

Fiddleford screams, knocked over onto the ground.

He gasps, his breathing coming out in panicked sobs. His fingers reach for the neck of his banjo.

"Aw, what a shame, soooo close!" Bill puts all his weight on the smaller man, giggling delightedly. "Aw, well, I guess the important thing is that you _tried_ , right Fiddler?" He wraps his hands around Fiddleford's neck, digging in his nails.

"Hey, I have a riddle for you!~ What's black and blue and _dead_ all over?"

Fiddleford gasps, legs thrashing feebly under the creature's weight. It's not Stanford... Even though those are his six fingers curling around his windpipe.

Fiddleford's hand brushes his banjo. _Almost there..._

"Who cares?" He roars, gripping the neck of the instrument and smashing it into the creature's grinning face.

Bill shrieks, everything going black for a second or two. His vision returns blurry, a splitting headache greeting him. He moans, twitching in the dirt.

Bill blinks rapidly, stumbling to his hands and knees. He holds his head as he looks up, searching for his prey. He chuckles. "Well _played_ , Glasses, haha..."

Fiddleford takes his opportunity, taking in a ragged breath and scrambling to his feet. He hurtles down the stairs, pulls the door open and slams it shut. He hits the failsafe button next to the door, retracting the steps and locking it tightly behind him.

He doesn't relax until he's further underground, with heavy reinforced steel he designed himself between him and the horror he had almost fallen victim to.

He slumps down at the table, eyes welling before he bursts into uncontrollable sobbing. It wracks through his whole body, his head gets lighter by the second by his hyperventilating.

"Gosh darn it, Stanford." He sniffles.

Bill screams, throwing his body into the steel door. "Oh _C'MON_!"

He bangs on the door, spitting and snarling like a rabid beast. "YOU THINK YOU CAN HIDE FROM ME, HUH? YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SHUT YOURSELF AWAY AND DENY THE TRUTH?" He drives his fist into the door. "WANNA KNOW THE TRUTH, FIDDLER? ARE YA READY? WELL HERE IT IS!"

He slaps the door with his hand, a little bit like a drum roll. "Fordsy doesn't care much about you! Not as much as he does about _me_ and what _we_ have!" he gives an exaggerated sigh. "I know, it hurts to hear, doesn't it? But you've gotta face facts sooner or later...especially when they're right in your face, choking the life outta ya!" He giggles. "he'd risk your and his relationship, he'd risk your _life_ for this stupid project, and you wanna know the best part, Fiddlesticks? Wanna know my _favorite_ part?" he chuckles, rapping his knuckles against the door. "You're gonna fucking _let him_!" He bursts into a fit of laughter.

Bill lets his laughter go on for a while, and when it subsides he sighs, leaning against the door and giving it a kick. "Now I could spend a lot of time hanging around, waiting for you to come out of your little hidey hole, I suppose I could, but man, that would be _boring_ , wouldn't it?"

He glances at the tree branch. "That's the way in isn't it? Way up there?" He shrugs. "naw, not worth my time...not worth my time at all..."

He knocks on the door, relishing the rattling, like tapping on the glass of a fish tank. "You're sealed in all nice and cozy, but you're gonna have to come back soon, you know? We've both got our... duties to Sixer..." He laughs. "Funny, we're both tied to him, in our own special ways, aren't we? at least until that portal is completed.." He traces out a little triangle on the door. "So, you're gonna hide out for as long as you can, and then you're gonna press that sweet, sweet memory erasing gun to your temple and pull the trigger" He mimics this action, though Fiddleford can't see it. "And then you're gonna come crawling back to that ungrateful bastard like nothing ever happened!" He laughs.  

He gives the door one last knock. "You have a good day, Fiddsy! Might wanna bring the ascot back into fashion if you don't want Sixer to wonder about those bruises! That'd just put a damper on the mood wouldn't it?"

He chuckles, sighing. He swaggers away, whistling _We'll Meet Again_ in the cheeriest manner, playing the memory of wringing Fiddleford's neck in his mind over, and over, and over…

**Author's Note:**

> [8/4/2016 10:29:04 AM] moose: (( Fiddleford: -Mumford and Sons banjo solo-  
> [8/4/2016 10:29:20 AM] moose: (( x5 speed  
> [8/4/2016 10:29:23 AM] Slidey McSlider: ((LMFAO
> 
> [ (x) ](http://somewhenfarfromhere.tumblr.com/post/36681666606/you-dont-see-many-mumford-and-sons-gifsets-this)


End file.
